An Attempt at Tanka
The day begins with
substance, sans ceremony —
makeup abandoned.
Soft light from half-swiveled shades
brushes the need in their arms.
There are thoughts
far too precious
to spend on lined
pages,
feelings too
delicate
in nuance
for prose —
Sweet glances
sit wrapped tight
and kept with
my dearest
hopes in hidden
caverns
of worship.
